Fck Christmas
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: A little bit of HouseWilson fluff to get you into the holiday spirit. I probably won’t publish more chapters unless you all demand that I do. Just fun, no real plot. This piece is slash, which means male on male sex, if you can’t handle that, you can go f


A little bit of House/Wilson fluff to get you into the holiday spirit. I probably won't publish more chapters unless you all demand that I do. Just fun, no real plot. This piece is slash, which means male on male sex, if you can't handle that, you can go fuck yourself.

House hates Christmas. I think it's all the people and the cheer, the music, the gifts, parties, the stupid movies, TV specials, Christmas carols. Santa Clause. Honestly, if I were just a tad bit more cynical myself, I'd probably hate Christmas too. I mean it has become a bit of an empty holiday and the commercialism is kind of—well obnoxious. But it still figures that only House could truly hate something that makes so many people happy.

"I hate Christmas," House says, bursting into my office through the side door, a candy cane, dangling between his lips.

"Well, as long as you're being consistent. Every year around—I know, stop giving me that look, 'all the idiots come out at Christmas.'"

"I had a woman who was convinced that her son was going to die because he ate half of the mistletoe berries off of her plant. It took half an hour for her to calm down enough to remember that she had specifically bought plastic mistletoe for that specific reason."

"One extreme case and you're already declaring how much you…"

"Three separate cases of salmonella from eating eggnog with raw eggs in it, one guy who glued a Santa beard to his face with rubber cement to prove that the thing wouldn't stay on, and another with—four ornamental balls shoved up—well let's just say it's a new record."

"Okay, I'm going to pretend that you've forgotten the fact that I spend half my days telling people they're going to die, and the other half pumping them full of medicine that makes them wish they actually were." He makes the pouty face and then smiles.

"Well who else am I going to complain to?" he asks, sitting on the edge of my desk. "Four ornaments, I just—I think that even beats the MP3 player."

"I don't have time to listen to you list all the things you have removed from people's—from people. Some of actually work more than one case a week."

"Why James, is that jealousy I detect in your voice? Of course, that begs another question, are you jealous because of my workload or the fact that I've had my hand down the pants of half the guys who walk into this hospital?"

"House. I've got a nineteen-year-old girl coming in about ten minutes from now. She's about to ha e a double mastectomy. The last thing she needs is to hear you talk about pulling MP3 players from some guys butt. How about I come by your place to night and make us both dinner." House takes his chin in his hand and looks me over for a minute.

"Fine. Hey, Jimmy, this patient of yours, is she hot?" I swear, sometimes even I hate House. "Okay, okay. I'm going. You can't blame a guy for asking, can you?" And just like that, he's gone.

The rest of the afternoon drags on and I catch myself looking up at the clock, counting down the hours, minutes, seconds, far too many times, before I finally leave an hour earlier than I had originally planned, just so I can see House sooner. I walk through the door, two huge grocery bags in my arms, and he doesn't even look up.

"Can I get a hand here?" Without batting an eyelash, he claps and turns his attention back to the TV. "What are you watching?" I ask putting the groceries bags down in the kitchen.

"Nothing important, why?" he asks, sifting through the bags, as I try to get everything taken out and set up. "You know I've been thinking about this whole Christmas thing, and I think I've got an idea." He pushes the bags away, and leans into kiss me. Our lips touch and my plans for dinner are completely forgotten."

"And what's that?" I ask, opening my mouth for him. House's hands on my waist, mine pulling off his shirt. Then House is on his knees in front of me, yanking my pants to my ankles. "Are you okay like that, because—."

"Shut up and enjoy yourself." He removes my rapidly hardening cock from underpants, and runs his tongue down the shaft. I close my eyes, leaning back against the counter and letting out a loud moan as he takes it in his mouth, licking and sucking.

The next few hours are a blur of nothing but our sweaty bodies pressed up against each other, moaning, cuming and his hands allover me. It's amazing. And when the two of us are lying on the floor of the kitchen, my head pressed against his chest, his arms around me, the half cooked dinner, burnt above us on the stove, House turns to me and says, "Fuck Christmas," I smile and think, yeah, that's a good idea.

Mistletoe is poisonous if you eat it.


End file.
